


Homecoming

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Big Hero Poe Dameron, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Gay Poe Dameron, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylo Ren Redemption, M/M, Male Slash, NSFW, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Protective Poe Dameron, Redeemed Ben Solo, Redemption, Slash, Virgin Ben Solo, hot guys kissing, sexual healing, star wars smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-12-28 20:50:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21143003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Unflinching Rebel Poe Dameron is sent to personally extract the man known as Kylo Ren from the First Order. He expects a fight, but when he discovers how very broken his commander’s son really is, he finds that a different approach is warranted— and both men end up beginning a whole new chapter of their lives.





	1. No Games

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).

“How did you get in here?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes!” A huge, solid figure leapt from a supine position, sitting up urgently in bed to see an unexpected, very unwelcome visitor laying suggestively next to where he’d been sleeping. 

“Nah, I don’t think it does.” The visitor sat up as well, much more calmly.

“Why are you here?”

“It’s your mother. She’s not well, you know.”

Silence in the darkness for a long, drawn-out moment, followed by a terse, “She’s more your mother than mine. You should go to her.”

“Don’t be stupid. I’m a pretty poor substitute for her sweet little Ben, and you know it.”

An angry flash of dark, brooding hazel, followed by a broad hand rising and soft, dim light flooding the room. “How did you get in here?” 

“I told you, I don’t think it really matters.” 

“You know what, you’re right— just leave.”

“Can’t do that.” A glint of white; teeth, grinning cheekily. “You’re supposed to come _with_ me. I guess you’re not in the mood to just do me a favour?”

“Go to hell, Dameron.”

“Ooh, feisty.” At that, the same large hand that had seemed to light up the room took a swing at the air beside its owner; missed as Poe deftly ducked the blow. After the threat had passed, his form bravely sidled up close to that of the much larger man. “Come on now. You owe me, anyway.”

The man who had once been known as Ben Solo (and to some, he still was) bared his teeth as he looked down beside himself at his nighttime invader. How _had_ he gotten in? It hardly mattered, now that he was here. He wished, suddenly, that he’d gone to bed with clothes on, but he didn’t betray any hints of embarrassment. Instead, he glared. “Should I kill you quickly here, myself? Or should I have you imprisoned and tortured— just for fun this time?” Then he added, more quietly and with a hiss, “You had such a wonderful experience, before.”

A warm hand touched a thick, hard, unclothed thigh. “Now, now. Don’t be like that. I’m not here to fight. As a matter of fact, I’m not exactly crazy about you these days, either— and I didn’t want to come here. But I didn’t come for me, or for you, really. Your mom needs you, Ben— so let’s go.”

The taller figure stood swiftly to tower over his intruder. Poe tried not to— he had steeled himself— but he winced, and Kylo Ren noticed this. He tensed his muscles, every last one of them visible in his stark nakedness, and growled. Then, he looked threateningly down upon the brave Rebel, who would have been the first to admit to being out of his element in this situation.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he had not wanted to come. With the decimation of most of the Rebellion’s military might, however— alongside the chaotic takeover of the First Order by Poe’s own top General’s deeply unstable son— he hadn’t felt he’d had much choice. His infiltrating Ben’s personal quarters had been a last-ditch plan concocted on the fly when Leia had remained ill following her son’s attack. She would likely recover, but perhaps if her son thought she wouldn’t, unless he came to her... perhaps, if he saw her sick, and thought that maybe he could somehow fix it, or say goodbye, or make up for his father, or... _something_...

And, even if that didn’t work, getting the self-appointed new Supreme Leader away from his army and potentially into Rebel custody could only be beneficial— Poe had no choice but to be up to this task. New Jedi Rey was better off as bait than hook for Ren; anyway, she was currently under heavy protection as she perfected the skills that Luke had only had so much time to impart on her. 

So, here was the brave young navigator instead, staring up at a tense, snarling, and nude Ben Solo. 

“God— you know, you look just fantastic underneath all those robes. Anyone else ever tell you that?”

Tense silence, so Poe continued:

“This makes me feel a ton better, actually— you saw a lot more of me than I’d have liked the last time I ran into you, so I think this is a great way to even things out a bit. And, it’s not like you’re exactly in a rush to cover up for me, so I’m just gonna—“

Then, a sudden and deeply unpleasant sensation stopped Poe mid-sentence, and slowly— in a way that was so measured as to produce a feeling of extremely drawn-out unease— he felt himself being leaned back by an invisible force, flat onto the bed.

“—Shit.”

Looking up, he could see Kylo Ren’s immense, towering body tremble with rage, and he began to feel afraid. He’d been through hell the last time he’d been alone with this man; it was a hell he had not wanted to relive. A part of him had thought, genuinely, that in the chaos of the aftermath of Crait and everything else that had happened since, he would have been able to catch the volatile Force-user in a vulnerable position. He thought he might have been able to lead him away from his safety-zone; by chase if he had to, but he had clearly underestimated the focus of this lost man’s rage.

“What, exactly, did you think you were going to accomplish by doing this?” Kylo snapped as he bent down slowly over his visitor.

Poe gulped and narrowed his eyes, boring a tunnel through his own fear. He’d been in much worse positions than this one and come out alive, but he’d not had enough time to fully process the emotional impact of his previous ordeal with Kylo Ren. He was taken aback at the familiarity of the terror he felt, but he used it all to his advantage as best he could. 

Carefully, he ventured, “Why don’t you come closer, so I can tell you. It’s— well, it’s kind of—“ Poe shifted his eyes about as if there might be someone watching them, although there clearly wasn’t, “—_a secret_.” He then bit his lip endearingly and widened his eyes as he waited for the other man to answer.

Kylo did bring his own face closer now, edging his way onto the bed again, bent over threateningly— one bare knee rested on either side of the pilot as he virtually spat, “Do not play games with me.” He was so close that Poe could feel the ends of his messy black bedhead tickling his cheeks.

As deep a breath as he could draw in, then in barely a whisper, “No games here.” He was still stuck fast to the bed, but he could lift his head; could lift it just enough to crane his neck upward and plant his mouth squarely on the snarling scowl baring down on him. 

Kylo’s eyes burst open as widely as they ever had, before knitting at the brow in confusion, and he froze in spite of himself as an energetic tongue flitted into his mouth to feel around his teeth. Of all the things he had been expecting his insufferable visitor to do or say, this was not at all it. If anything could have caught him off-guard, it would certainly have been something just like this.

That was, of course, exactly what Poe Dameron had been counting on when he found his head was the only part of himself that he could move. He had barely been here a half an hour, and he was already out of ideas— this hadn’t been a very good plan to begin with. So, when the so-called Supreme Leader had leaned down so very close to him, he had done the first thing he could think of to do with the very few tools he had available to him— the best of them right now, perhaps, being his tongue.

With Ben still unmoving, Poe thrust it as far inside the raven-haired giant’s warm, wet mouth as he could. He stretched and nuzzled, closed his eyes, and sighed sensually. The longer the bigger man remained silent, the more effective he assumed his technique, and he must have been correct: When he opened one eye to peek at his target, he saw to his great surprise that Ben’s own eyes were closed.

A low, throaty groan emerged from Kylo and his muscles— the ones in his face and neck, at least— relaxed measurably. He began to lean further downward into Poe; unselfconsciously forgetting his own lack of clothing, and tentatively allowed his own tongue out to play with that of his uninvited guest.

At this, Poe noticed that he could just begin to move his shoulders— Ben was losing focus, and his grip on the Force was weakening. The brave pilot let out his own moan; happy-sounding yet desperate, and gently broke off the kiss. Ben gasped and their foreheads touched; when they did, Poe whispered smoothly, “You’re gorgeous. When _was_ the last time you let anyone call you gorgeous?”

There was no answer to this; Kylo remained still and silent, his own regal nose nestled intimately beside Poe’s. “Shut up,” and he pressed their mouths back together, this time being much more assertive in the use of his own tongue.

Trying to move again, Poe realized that he could lift his arms now and took advantage, propping himself up on one elbow. He didn’t speak anymore; simply leaned into the dominance of Ben’s strange affection, and hoped he would become even less focused as it intensified. Whatever was going on in the typically turbulent man’s head, it had presented Poe with a vulnerability and he intended to exploit it, if the circumstances allowed.

This time it was Kylo who broke their contact to sit up tall on his knees; when he did, Poe looked up in awe at the impossibly large form of his good friend’s only son. Still holding himself up with one arm, Poe tested his other, lifting it and successfully reaching up to stroke a vast expanse of smooth, hard, pale skin.

Kylo Ren flinched and his eyes wavered. He never would have expected this kind of behaviour from a Rebel intruder, much less one whose spirit he thought he had already broken. To add to that, it had been such a very, very long time— since he had been touched by skin at all, since he had been called any variation on the word ‘gorgeous’, since he had kissed or been kissed— that he found himself with very few resources to deal with the reality of it happening all at once, now.

He glanced down at the strong hand resting on his own tense stomach; he could feel Poe’s calloused fingers brush over his skin, and goosebumps formed on him as he considered the touch. Expressionlessly, and still without speaking, he reached down himself; bending just enough to feel with his hands the Rebel’s face. Winsomely handsome, fearful yet strong, and with a charming day-or-so’s growth worth of beard stubble, in Kylo’s head swirled memories of when he’d made this endearing face contort in pain; scream in anguish. 

Ben didn’t know what he was feeling now; he was too overwhelmed to even begin to identify it; however, he could not help but be seized with the desire for another kiss— so he leaned back down and took one; more gently this time, and with a slower tongue.

Surprised and relieved, Poe reciprocated expertly and dragged his nails softly along hulking muscles. At this, the larger man shuddered and sat back up suddenly on his knees; he reached down and used his hands to begin to pull at the edges of the leather jacket worn by his intruder.

Poe found now, to his great relief, that he could move freely enough to sit up straight; as he did, he aided Ren by shedding the coat to the floor. He decided to keep from speaking anymore for now; refrain from teasing too much, or pushing too far. This was as vulnerable a position as he had ever expected to have Ben in. He had thought this encounter would go much differently, but it hadn’t— and these kinds of punches, at least, didn't feel so bad to roll along with as the ones he'd braced himself for. 

As soon as Poe had been freed of his jacket, Kylo went quickly to work tugging at the hem of his rumpled shirt. The Rebel lifted his arms and off it slid; he tossed it aside with the other shed garment, and stopped to look up at the person who was undressing him, waiting for his next cue. 

Kylo was trembling by this time; only very slightly, but enough for the two of them to both notice and choose not to mention it. He was also fully aroused by now, as Poe could not help but note with his hulking counterpart essentially straddling his legs. A long, thick, dripping— and, yes, intimidating— hardness protruded near his chin, and he swallowed hard at a lump in his throat as he imagined what its owner could choose to do with it, and how.

Some emotion, for once not anger, was evident behind Ben's eyes as he registered the fear on Poe's face. The Rebel hadn't displayed it on purpose, and for a minute he regretted it, until Kylo— from high up on his knees, enormous and noble-looking— asked in an uncharacteristicly small and quiet voice that hardly matched his formidability, "You're scared?"

He sounded much younger, then, than his actual age. His voice was still big and deep, but an uncertainty— one before unheard in the territory of the First Order— seeped out from behind it.

Right up until he’d heard it, Poe had indeed been terrified, but something about that tiny waver in Ben’s voice set him more at ease. This, he realized, was his ‘in’— a symptom of the vulnerability he needed to cash in on to get his target the hell out of here, and—potentially— the galaxy into a more tenable situation.

He smiled; he knew he was good at smiling— “No,” he insisted, “I’m not scared. I just don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite as magnificent as you on top of me like this.” He raised his hand up to Ben’s chest, put it flat against the skin, and ran it down the length of his torso. Sets of bulging muscles twitched and tensed under his hand; he felt his own cock getting hard in spite of everything, and as he looked up at the face of the man he’d been sent to fetch, he had an emboldening revelation:

_Ben Solo had never done this before._

This placed Poe Dameron in such a different state of mind, and so suddenly, that he nearly had to shake his head. He didn’t, but what he did do was grasp the length of the cock near his face. He also leaned forward, enough that soft, dark pubic hairs ticked the side of his cheek, and kissed a tiny hint of hip bone that jutted from between impossible musculature.

This caused Ben to rut into Poe’s hand and gasp; at this, the Rebel noticed that he was free to move his entire body. Keeping hold of the large and throbbing member in front of him, he shifted to put himself at a better angle, then he began to lick around the rim of the head and down the length of the shaft. He continued to hold on, moving his hand in tandem with his mouth; stopping and sucking gently just before reaching the smoothest part of the skin.

Ben’s hands were just beginning to unclench from fists, and his breathing was speeding up, along with his heart rate. He could feel beads of sweat forming along his still unsettled brow; along his massive shoulders. He realized that he had, at some point, squeezed his eyes shut, so he opened them now. He looked down on the intrepid pilot, whose mind he had once invaded and whose mouth now felt as though it was invading him— and realized to both his own horror and great relief that he did not want it to stop.

He cried out, finally and loudly, as he bucked and raised a hand to grasp at soft, short locks of dark hair. He could smell the inside of the Rebel’s helmet off of them; he’d removed it long before he’d woken Ben, but the scent of the leather that padded it was still prominent. His own hand nearly enveloped the back of Poe’s head entirely, and he stroked from the top down to the back of the neck as he tried to stop himself from moving too much, or too soon.

Poe understood, and raised his free hand to take a firm hold of a strong hip. Ben seemed to lean into that hand, so he removed his other from the throbbing member before him and gripped the other hip as well. He felt the clutch on his hair tighten, and then another hand cover his shoulder nearly completely. 

Although he now felt more in control of the situation than he had before, he couldn’t help but notice that he had scarcely ever felt so diminutive. He had always been strong and apt; not very big, but never too weak, or too thin. Right now, though, sitting under Ben, he felt tinier than he ever had. 

He put this thought away; a small part of him relished the idea of being overtaken by his target’s sheer size, and that part of him made the tip of his cock start to leak onto his pants. He could also could feel the inside of his zipper rubbing torturously against his own erection. However, he couldn’t afford to fall too far into this moment; at least, not as far as poor Ben. 

So, instead of focusing too much on himself, he stopped his gentle kissing and licking, and instead took the length of Ben’s hardness into his mouth wholly. It was big; big like its owner, and he could feel both the corners of his eyes and the back of his throat sting as he opened his jaw wide to accommodate it. 

As he held Ben’s hips between his hands and licked at the huge cock buried to the hilt in his straining mouth, he shifted as best he could while remaining seated between tremendously strong legs. It felt good to allow his own member to reposition itself inside his pants— but his movement also prompted the Force-user to begin to thrust. This made Poe feel a bit nervous; the size and strength of his partner, combined with the physical vulnerability of his own position, could equate to very bad news for him. 

As the pounding on the back of his throat began to quicken, he took a chance before it became unbearable— he slid one of his hands around to Ben’s back and began to stroke sensually the groove housing his spine. The bigger man groaned, slowed, and began to shudder; Poe moved his hand down to cup one half of a firm, smooth ass; trailing his fingers suggestively down the centre.

Suddenly, he felt Ben’s cock stiffen further, and so he dug the digits of his other hand hard into a bucking hip. Rhythmic thrusts became rough, wavering tremors that the pilot could just barely hold back, and then a hot wave of long-repressed physicality exploded. It coated the inside of Poe’s mouth and throat as he tried to swallow all of it without coughing or sputtering.

He did, then withdrew his mouth from the twitching, leaking, slowly softening cock before its owner fell down— it seemed he might—and scrambled up to stand on his own knees as Ben’s large hands fell from him. He was not eye-level with Ben this way; not really, but kneeling and facing each other, Poe was able to reach up and hold an utterly enchanting face in his hands. 

The pilot was focused; a tiny trail of saliva laced with his partner’s savoury juices— they were delicious, Poe could not help but note— dripped out the side of his lip and caught in his stubble. He ignored that in favour of looking as far as he could into what he found to be an astonishingly soft and sweet set of dark-hazel eyes.

Having had his mouth full of Ben’s erection for so long, Poe realized that he had not actually seen his face for several minutes, and now that he was staring at it, he almost froze at what he saw when he really looked. Above a trembling chin, beautifully pink lips were stretched into a mournful line. Tears streamed thickly down elegant cheeks, and had begun to drip off of the end of a splendid nose... all from eyes that contained nothing of what Poe had been expecting.

Indeed, these were not the eyes of Supreme Leader Kylo Ren— Kylo Ren, he realized, had left the room at an earlier juncture. These eyes belonged to a different man; one who looked the same, but who was not angry— not volatile, or rough, or unpredictable— much more simply, they belonged to someone who was lost and broken, and sad.

These new and different eyes belonged exclusively to Ben Solo.

Poe almost squinted to see, because he could hardly believe it. But, when the reality of the sight before him registered in his mind, his hands slid back into the base of a beautiful jet-black mop of hair, and he ran his fingers through thick strands. 

“Ben.”

Lip continuing to tremble; tears continuing to fall, a deep voice replied, “You don’t know me.”

That same handsome flash of grinning white, genuine this time, “No— no, I don’t. But I know Kylo Ren— and I don’t see that guy anywhere.” He gripped the raven bedhead affectionately, and pulled the lost boy close to him. Ben leaned down, their foreheads touched again, and Poe could feel wet tears on his own skin. He cupped the back of Ben’s head gently with one hand, and stroked the length of his dark hair with the other. “You asked if I was scared? I’m not scared— does this feel scared to you?”

The man who was once; was so very recently, Kylo Ren sank down, sitting much lower on his own legs. His face left a warm and wet trail of sorrow along Poe’s neck as it fell into the valiant Rebel’s chest, and he wrapped a huge set of arms tightly around his rib cage, utterly slight in comparison. Poe lowered his own hands to hold Ben around the shoulders in return; they were so damn _big_— but the pilot himself no longer felt small as the General’s son began to shudder. Poe felt fresh, hot tears spill over the ductile smoothness of his own chest; he squeezed, and Ben let out a harsh sob.

“Hey— _hey_...” His fingers were rough; rough from work, rough from life, but Poe used them aptly to trace gentle lines into shaking muscles. “We can fix this.”

Without looking up, Ben shook his head, and gasped quietly, “No...”

Poe lowered his own head to put his mouth by Ben’s ear; black coils shook with the heat of his breath, and he countered, “_Yes_.”

The former dark Lord looked up from the pilot’s chest and into rich, fearless mahogany eyes, resting his chin in the groove of what seemed— to him, at least— a very narrow breastbone. Face wet and ruddy; hair a tangled mess; snaking facial scar standing out perhaps more than ever, he looked somehow both identical to, and nothing at all like Supreme Leader Kylo Ren.

He was quiet, although breathing raggedly, so Poe continued, “Come home, Ben. Come home with me; home to your mom.” Instinct drew a kiss from him, which he planted very gently on Ben’s jaw; then, “_You’re free._”

“I— I can’t—“

“If it’s all yours now, you can.” He drew his head back to look into the broken man’s eyes again. “Is it all yours, Ben? You killed that wrinkly old bastard what’s-his-face, didn’t you? So, it’s yours— but I’ll be honest, it sucks. The whole thing sucks.” He smiled reassuringly. “So leave it. Come home.”

“...It’s not— it’s not that simple—“

“—It is, though. It is that simple.” He leaned in with another whisper into Ben’s ear, “Let it burn. We’ll rebuild it, together. You, and your mom— she loves you so much, Ben, but she needs you.” He kissed the earlobe first; then a trail across a warm, still-damp cheek. After that, the side of his mouth; it was so soft, so unlike the rest of him. “I’ll be there, too. I’ll hold onto you, if it’ll help. I didn’t want to come to you, no— but now? I’m glad I did. If this is Ben Solo, I like Ben Solo. I want to get to know Ben Solo.” A deeper kiss; then, “Let me?”

One final sob, then the huge figure rose up high on his knees again. Poe let his arms slide down until they were curled protectively around Ben’s waist, who allowed his own to hang at his sides for a moment after letting go of his new hero. The two men stared at one another for what felt like a very long moment as Ben evened his breathing, then he placed his hands as softly as he could on Poe’s shoulders, looking down at him, subdued. 

In barely a murmur, “Yes.” Followed by, shakily, “Take me home, then.”

Poe smiled wide; more widely than he had since he’d arrived or for a long time before, and answered quietly, but excitedly, “Yes... _yes_!” He stood as tall as he could on his own knees and pulled Ben closer by the waist. “You won’t regret this, Ben. Never.” He craned his neck up to steal more kisses; not one, but several, slipping his tongue into a readily accepting mouth, as his fingers tightened their grip.

When Poe pulled away this time, he was treated to a sight that it was likely nobody had seen for a very long while. It was small, thin, and tentative in contrast to the man displaying it, but it was there, and Poe thought it was beautiful: a smile. Both in its redemptive significance— no one had thought Ben would ever truly smile again; not himself, not his mother, not anyone— and in its simple loveliness. Kylo Ren had been frightening, but Ben Solo was— in spite of his size— utterly gentle and unthreatening in his grief, regret, and also his handsomeness.

In a deep, quivering timbre, “I’ll go with you. I’ll go. No one can stop me, and I—“ his voice broke, but he recovered it, “—I can’t do this anymore... this... I mean, I—“ Tears threatened his eyes again.

Poe interrupted, “—Hey. It’s okay.” He raised one hand to cup Ben’s face. “Come. Just... come. You’ll have all the time in the world, if you just get out of here with me. My ship is docked; it’s not far. You won’t even have to run— just walk out of here with me, and we’re gone.”

As Ben rose slowly and silently to dress himself, Poe put his legs over the edge of the bed. Before retrieving his clothes, he sighed. He was not unhappy, but his mind was spinning. He had expected to leave with Kylo Ren; either dragging him badly damaged, or leading him out in an explosive chase... but instead, he was exiting calmly with a placated Ben Solo. 

He was vaguely aware of his own frustration, centred mostly in his pants— but, he thought, perhaps it would not be so difficult to relieve it after all— just as long as they could get away from the First Order and back into Rebellion territory.

_Shit._

Poe realized that the technique he had used to enrapture Ben had somehow worked the other way, too. He found himself wanting, and wanting badly, to continue this strange tryst with the man he was rescuing (stealing?); not just because of the twitching want of his own cock, but because of everything. He’d had no idea the gentleness; the seeming depth of the well of forlorn love behind the eyes of his friend’s broken child.

He liked to fix things, he always had— radios, aircraft, hopeless situations of every variety. But could he fix Ben? In any tiny part, could he begin to touch the damage that had hurt not only the former Supreme Leader himself, but his own family and countless others as well?

There was no way to tell. Not here, not in this room; not while Ben was still putting pants on, and Poe himself was adjusting his own shirt. It would be foolish to try to evaluate any of that right now, and yet, the same part of his mind that made him rush into battle so brashly (and often) was telling him that absolutely, he could help Ben defeat his demons. He had seen first-hand, just now, what love could do for this man in pain. 

Did he have more love to give to Ben? Enough of it?

Yes— yes, he thought he did.

Now dressed and ready to exit the room, Poe turned his eyes to Ben. He looked a bit more like Kylo Ren now, all draped in black, but that couldn’t have fooled his Rebel saviour— not even if he’d wanted it to. His face said everything he couldn’t: Eagerness to flee the darkness that had surrounded him for so long, concern for his mother, confusion at his feelings for his rescuer; most of all, fear— fear of so many things... all were written heavily on him as he walked out of his quarters with Poe. 

Confidently and with purpose, however, the pair marched down a long corridor and toward where they would find a single, inconspicuous Rebel shuttle. There was barely anyone around them at all, on this part of Ben’s ship— it was a blessing, now, that Kylo Ren had been so very fond of self-isolation.

As they were about to board, the taller of the two stopped fast. Anxiety rose in Poe’s throat suddenly as he thought to himself that perhaps his magic was not long-lasting; that whatever spell he’d cast on Ben Solo was wearing off— that he was about to either die, or be forced to lead a raucous chase.

Instead, “Poe?”

“Yeah? We’ve gotta get out of here— don’t change your mind on me now.” He thought carefully but briefly, then added, with a wry smile, “You _still_ owe me.”

Ben chuckled in spite of himself; it had been so long since he laughed— he hoped Poe could keep making him do that, he thought, as he clarified, “No— I just—“ He looked down guiltily, then back up at his hero, “—Is it real?” His jaw clenched. “Is my mother there? Does she— will she see me?” His voice broke, “And you— do you mean it? Will you... stay? Near me? Or are you just going to—“

“No!” Poe sprinted over to Ben, reached up to grasp his arms— he would never get over how _big_ they were— and stared into a pair of exhausted eyes. “No. I’m not lying, and this isn’t a trick, or a trap.” He squeezed, and said emphatically, “You just need to come home. That’s all there is to it.” Then, he raised one hand high up to cup the back of Ben’s neck, and pulled him down for one final, deep kiss before they needed to board.

This was what Ben had needed; had wanted— to know that it wasn’t fake. So many things he’d been promised throughout his life had been fake; it had always made him so scared; then, so angry... he needed this to be just what it looked like.

As he felt his brave pilot's tongue probing his mouth, Ben did something that he was reluctant to do; aside from his trepidation, he was not sure if he could even focus his mind enough to do it... but, he had to know. He had to know for himself whether this was a ruse or a lie or even some sick hallucination— because if it was, after all this, he was sure he would shatter. 

And, if it was all an illusion; if it _and_ he both had to shatter, he would rather it happen here than out in space, or anywhere near any part of his family. Because, when Ben Solo shattered, it was dangerous— and he was so tired of being dangerous.

So, as he bent down to press his own hungry, lonely mouth into that of the kind and brave navigator who had come for him, he reached out with his feelings as well, and harnessed what he could of the Force that had and would always flow through him. As gently, as tenderly, and as patiently as he could muster, he snaked his way deep into Poe's mind to peek at his intentions. He knew what he wanted to see, but not whether or not it was there... so, he looked.

Poe felt what was, to him, a familiar sensation now— hard and heavy; probing— but it was absent the distinct terror that he’d have expected to accompany it. Continuing to let his mouth dance with Ben’s, he could feel him enter his mind, but instead of fear, it gave way to a sense of deep intimacy. Thoughts of Leia, of the other remaining Rebels, of his own journey here... then, thoughts of the moments that they had just shared, and the way Poe felt about it... the way, too, he felt about Ben Solo himself— which was completely unlike the way he had felt about Kylo Ren.

Ben broke the kiss; straightened his back, and looked down. He could feel his eyes start to fill with tears again, but he knew he would have forever to let them fall if he did not delay now.

Simply, he said, “It’s real.”

Poe grinned, “Of course it is,” and led his former target— now, somehow, his lover— into his shuttle. It was smaller than his X-Wing; designed to go unnoticed, and Ben both had to duck to enter it, and slide in very closely next to his rescuer at the controls as he boarded. This, of course, he didn’t mind.

After firing up the engines, Poe turned to Ben. He looked frightened— but he was staring eagerly out at the stars, and showed neither a hint of reluctance, nor any willingness to turn around as the pair shot off like a bullet into the depths of space.

Not long after they had taken off, Poe had calibrated everything to his liking and set a steady course toward home. Looking over the control panel one more time, and finding himself satisfied with its function, he turned to Ben and asked warmly, “You feeling okay?”

There was, however, no answer— Ben was sleeping. He was leaned as far back in his seat as his own size would allow, head lolled to the side. One hand was sweetly tucked up under his own arm; the other was resting on Poe’s leg, squeezing unconsciously as dreams flitted behind the eyes of the man who was once, briefly, Supreme Leader of the First Order. 

Poe stared for a while, then leaned up and placed a very gentle kiss on Ben’s face. He hummed softly in his sleep, and the movement behind his eyes slowed as he seemed to relax. Poe, for his part, was looking forward to presenting Leia with her son; looking forward to getting the hell away from the First Order and being able to say, ‘mission accomplished‘. However, he was looking forward even more to doing what he had expressed a fervent interest in doing earlier.

As he looked out at the beauty of space and waited for his tiny ship to draw them home, Poe Dameron thought to himself, eagerly, that could not wait to forget Kylo Ren, and begin to get to know the exquisite beauty that was now Ben Solo.


	2. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song is Last of the Real ones by Fall Out Boy <3

_I was just an only child of the universe_  
_And_ _then_ _I_ _found_ _you_  
(_And_ _then_ _I_ _found_ _you)_  
_You_ _are_ _the_ _sun_ _and_ _I_ _am_ _just_ _the_ _planets_  
_Spinning_ _around_ _you_  
(_Spinning_ _around_ _you)_  
...  
_Oh_, _you_ _drain_ _all_ _the_ _fear_ _from_ _me_  
_I'm_ _done_ _with_ _having_ _dreams_  
_The_ _thing_ _that_ _I_ _believe_  
_You_ _drain_ _the_ _fear_ _from_ _me_

...

Two figures of vastly contrasting sizes stand in a narrow hallway inside of a very, very secret base.

“Well, what did she say?” Excited; encouraging, looking up with love.

“I don’t think she trusts me.” Downcast eyes; pretty, sad.

“She will. You just got here.” A hand reaching up; way up to comfortingly touch silky, tangly, pitch-black locks.

“I’m afraid she won’t— that no one will.” A hitch in a soft, deep voice.

“Don’t be. I trust you— in time, everyone will. You just have to show them.” Now a second hand; rising, rising very high— to cup a pale, tear-streaked face.

A drawn, mournful, and hesitant smile. “Show them what? I don’t have anything.”

Sympathetic eyes, the colour of luxurious dark wood. “You have lots. I know you do.” An affectionate tug on the beautiful hair between his fingers, then in a near-whisper, “Show them what you showed me.”

A halting, loud, and involuntary laugh from Ben Solo; abrupt, but it lifts the dour blanket of sadness from off his shoulders.

Exasperation in Poe Dameron’s kind eyes; a chuckle in his voice, “That’s _not_ what I meant!”

Huge arms reaching out to envelop a comparatively slight frame. “I know,” beaming now, uncharacteristically.

An opposite sort of laugh; confident and knowing; then, smiling too, “Don’t be afraid— it’s not worth it. Just keep trusting me.” Standing, now, on his toes to plant a kiss on a face he never expected to look upon so lovingly.

A squeeze that nearly lifts his hero clear off the floor, followed by a soft and deliberate— and needy— kiss. When it breaks, “I trust you. Just stay with me.” _Please please please please please stay with me._

Hands sliding away from face and hair to rest on worn black laid over a broad chest. “I’m not going anywhere.” A smirk; a lean in. “Remember? About owing me?”

Another halting laugh— he isn’t used to it, yet, but with Poe to help him practice, he soon will be— and another kiss; powerful, consuming, and full of new warmth. Then, “I remember.”

“Mm...” The Rebel pulls back; looks up with mischievous eyes betraying— right now— not a hint of the strain their owner is trying to put behind him. “Wanna see my room?” It takes everything in him not to wink as he grasps Ben’s hand.

The former Dark Lord grasps back; says, “Show me,” and they exit happily, side-by-side. They move in the direction of both the consummation of their new love, and the valiant, handsome navigator’s well-earned reward.

...

_I'm here in search of your glory_  
_ There's_ _been_ a _million before me_  
_ That ultra-kind of love_  
_ You never walk away from_  
_You're just the last of the real ones..._


	3. Thank You

Dark, heavy layers hit the floor with a soft _thump_. An imposing figure clad now only in his shorts crawled into the welcoming embrace of a smaller, very patient companion and paused halfway into the bed, stalk-still. He waited; just waited, and relished the feeling of kind arms reaching out around him.

Then, he heard, “Hey— you okay?”

Silent as he considered the question, because it was genuine and he knew it, Ben Solo leaned in; almost too much— Poe Dameron was not yet used to lifting him, although he would get more practice with time. After a moment, “I’m fine. I’m just—“ and Ben stopped speaking.

“Just what?” Poe was sitting on his own bed, now. He was hiding in a shabby Rebel base with an awkwardly-bent comparative giant leaning heavily into his neck. He squeezed a set of strong, handsome shoulders in his arms and nuzzled into a gorgeous, thick black mop. (It was one of many things that he was quickly learning he could not get enough of touching.)

“Just... waiting for you to get up and leave, I guess. Or tell _me_ to leave. Or... I don’t know. Disintegrate in my hands.” Ben closed his eyes as he took his weight off of Poe, pulled away, and sat up— still very close to his new love. He wasn’t joking; for all he knew, Poe really could crumble in his grasp. The first two possibilities were infinitely more likely, but he figured anything was possible. He was still so scared.

He was, of course, also happy to be here; happy to be with Poe— happiest of all to see his mother, who had been awake, kind, and as forgiving as he could possibly have expected her to be under the circumstances. However, he could sense; she knew he could sense, a deep, underlying doubt in her heart. It made sense— it made more sense for her to doubt him than to welcome him, in fact. General’s son or not, he should have been in a prison cell.

He wasn’t in prison, but the distrust was still difficult to face. He deserved it; he knew he deserved it, but it hurt him, and badly.

So, pained and frightened and now seated near his Rebel hero, he looked down at his own hands, resting in his lap. Having thought about the look in his mother’s eyes; the effort she’d put into embracing him, into telling him that it was going to be okay. That she had, in fact, _forgiven_ him... 

That all made it very, very difficult to look at Poe right now. Shame was, at this moment, overtaking Ben— shame for what he had done to his family; to so, so many other families...

A hand; smaller than his, but just as rough and equally solid, reached out into his field of vision and grasped his fingers. To this point, Poe had simply listened as the man he’d rescued considered the possibility of being rejected— a strange and silly notion to him; he wouldn’t have brought someone into his bed only to cast them off, after all. So, now, that his companion was quiet, the pilot said his name, very gently, “Ben—“

He looked up from his own lap, and from the pairs’ hands.

“—it’s okay,” Poe finished, with his perfect, encouraging smile. He squeezed the fingers he’d clasped, and brought his other hand back up to touch that gorgeous raven hair again. “I know It doesn’t feel like it, and it might not feel like it for a while. But, you’re here, and that makes it okay. Nobody can change the past; you know that better than anyone. The future, though...” 

He gazed into Ben’s eyes as they finally and fully met his own; they were green and brown and flecked with gold; sad and hopeful and loving, all at the same time. So many different things swirling around, just as within their owner. Poe stopped himself from getting caught up in the chaotic loveliness and continued, “...the future belongs to you, now. Now that you’re here, you can do anything you want with it— so don’t be trapped by things you regret; it’s not worth it.”

Ben drew in a breath; deep, shaky. He released it, and raised Poe’s hand to his own lips, where he kissed it before letting it go. “Thank you,” because he did not know what else to say, or how to say it. Aside from being beautiful, his eyes were watery— but he’d cried so much in the last day that he was nearly out of energy to shed more tears. 

Poe noticed this, too, of course, and let his own hand travel from Ben’s hair down to his back, where he drew the much larger man into an embrace. His own head was resting, now, on an enormous chest, and he relished that feeling as he experienced his partner’s anxious heartbeat.

Ben Solo, unused to being held, was perhaps even less used to holding others lovingly. His own formidable arms moved awkwardly yet enthusiastically, wrapping themselves around Poe in a way that might have been mistaken for protective— at least, by someone who did not know who, here, was really protecting whom.

Ben buried his nose into a mess of dark curls and breathed in deeply. Leather, still; sweat, combined with something quickly becoming both familiar and comforting in a way he wouldn’t have been able to express if he’d tried. He made a long, drawn-out noise of contentment as he felt his navigator’s arms curl back around him, too... and he squeezed, tightly.

“Ow— wow!” Poe, still mired in Ben’s embrace, lifted his chin and untucked his head as best he could. “Hey, big guy— careful with those guns, hm?”

“Oh—“ Ben’s face reddened— it seemed quite unlike him— and he let go, quickly. “I’m sorry—“

Released, Poe stood up high on his knees; this way, his chin was level with the top of his partner’s head. “Don’t be! I love them! Just...” He placed the fingers of one hand on Ben’s chest; leaned down to whisper, “...Be gentle with me until I get used to this kind of perfect, okay?”

Ben chuckled, grateful for the diplomacy, and put his own arms— much more carefully this time— around his Rebel’s waist. He couldn’t remember ever being close enough to anyone in this way that it would matter how he used his strength. He kissed tentatively at Poe’s neck, producing a gasp; this emboldened Ben to begin to move his hands sensually up and down the pilot’s smooth, sturdy back.

Quivering and leaning into Ben at the touch, Poe was overcome with the realization that he would have to be as careful with the former Supreme Leader’s feelings as the towering warrior would have to be with Poe’s own body. This congruency made him smile as he felt a familiar kind of excitement swell beneath a loose pair of boxer shorts, the only thing he’d crawled into bed with. 

So close to his new lover, Ben could feel it too, and it gave him goosebumps. He pulled back a bit to brush a hesitant hand against the outside of the fabric. He was not about to say it out loud, but he truly did not know what he was doing or where he should begin. He looked up; Poe smiled, and did something very helpful— he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his own shorts, and heaved them down to where his knees were planted on the bed.

As he wriggled the rest of the way out of them and tossed them to the floor, Ben felt his breath hitch. He’d dropped his arms when Poe had moved to undress the rest of the way, but he raised one hand now to very gingerly grip the thick, stiff, olive-skinned length now pointing at him teasingly. He could feel himself getting hard again, too; as hard as he’d been when Poe had first started to kiss him, back on his old ship.

That memory made Ben feel as though he could rise, Rebel cock still in hand, so that he too was on his knees. He cupped the back of Poe’s head with the hand he still had free, and leaned down to kiss him. He thought, as he breathed deeply and probed the pilot’s mouth, that he was never, ever going to tire of this. 

Poe bucked into Ben’s hand as they kissed; it felt like he’d waited about a million years for this, although he knew it had really only been hours. It was such a big hand; so warm, and calloused in almost the same places as his own— both men had spent countless hours fighting in starships of various design. He savoured it; sank his hands deep into the raven tangles he was coming to love so much, and waited for Ben to break the kiss. When he did, Poe whispered mischievously, “You’re overdressed.”

Ben smiled, “Oh— you’re right—“ but before he could do anything about it himself, the smaller man was eagerly sliding off the last piece of clothing between them. Ben helped, and soon his shorts joined his lover’s on the floor beside the bed. He was excited, but somewhat incredulous that someone he had caused so much grief seemed to want to be with him, now, so badly. 

He hesitated before resuming contact, and Poe— so instinctive— said to him once again with a loving smile, “It’s okay, Ben.” He didn’t mind saying it; knew he would have to say it lots.

The two kissed again at this; Ben Solo had never been more grateful for anything in his life, and he was determined to express as much. Wordlessly, he pulled back and placed two broad hands on what seemed to him a slight, smooth pair of shoulders. Tenderly; gently— as softly as he had ever done anything in his life, if he had to consider it— he pushed his hero back down onto the bed. Soon, Poe was laying flat; Ben propped up over him on hands and knees.

Poe let himself fall back under the kind but heavy force; he felt his head hit his pillow, and all at once he was in a very similar position to the one in which he’d found himself not too long ago. 

This time, though, there was not a hint of fear present in him as he craned his neck up in much the same way to kiss Ben, whose hair was, again, just tickling the sides of his face gently. It brushed against his ears and caught in his stubble as the two allowed their tongues to dance without restraint. 

When this ended, Ben began to make a tentative but yearning journey with his mouth. It was a trip that began with a careful, slow exploration of each quivering tendon and muscle in Poe’s neck; then along his collarbone, and down to his chest—unmarred and utterly smooth beneath the slickness of an inexperienced but enthusiastic tongue.

He toyed with erect nipples and traced affectionate lines along a set of ribs, and a delicious just-pliable expanse of musculature. Then, Ben licked a hungry swirl around a taut stomach and reached a soft trail of dark hair; at this, he felt a brief and slight nervousness pass through him. Running his hands along the parts of the pilot he’d already explored with his lips, he decided to begin by simply attempting to emulate what Poe had done for him earlier. 

He’d never been in such close proximity to any organ like this other than his own. He found, now, that being eye-level with his handsome Rebel’s inspired a distinct longing in him— one that made a primal want take over. So tonight, instead of toying or teasing, he simply took the entire length into his mouth, sighing around it gratefully as he wrapped it up with his tongue and throat. 

This surprised Poe— surprised him enough that he yelled out and bucked his hips, which pleased Ben— who began to slowly bob his head up and down as he licked around, sucking up exquisite-tasting drops of cum. He couldn’t help but reach down to stroke himself as he did this; he was so, so hard again. The sight, smell, taste, feel, and even the sounds of his rescuer had quickly become enough to drive him mad. 

Poe gripped the sheets between the fingers of one hand; grasped the back of Ben’s hair with the other. He couldn’t help but push down just a tiny bit each time his companion’s lips met the base of his cock. Every time they did, there was a delicious noise from the back of Ben’s throat, and a few incredible flicks of his tongue. _He’s really enjoying this,_ Poe thought as he let another hitching moan escape him, and his hips leapt upward to bury Ben’s regal nose in soft, dark ringlets.

The former Dark Lord was, by now, rutting into his own hand in irregular bursts; he cried out himself despite his mouth being filled up with Rebel cock— and this, finally, was what gave Poe his long-awaited release. From the moment he’d noticed then-Kylo Ren’s tragic beauty, his member had been ready; begging, in fact, for exactly this. 

He got what he needed, now, as he called his love’s name out loudly enough to echo off the walls— warm, wet, and forceful; he shot his climax in shuddering fits into the back of Ben’s mouth, which graciously accepted and swallowed every last drop. 

The taste, the feeling, and the knowledge that he did, indeed, have _something_ to offer his beautiful saviour in return for all he’d done were too much, in that moment, for Ben to bear. After he was sure he’d sucked Poe as dry as he could, he stood on his knees and quickened his hand’s stroking of his own dripping, desperately engorged cock. 

In no time, Ben was crying out himself as he shot his own hot, sticky, and desperately needy trail onto Poe’s stomach and chest. He nearly fell onto the smaller man, but caught himself with his hand and instead lowered himself down gently. He could feel his own mess as he laid slowly and very carefully down onto his hero. He still placed most of his weight on his own elbows, which were now resting on either side of the smaller man.

They gazed at one another in this position for what could have been any length of time— they were not keeping track. Finally, they kissed, and then Ben eased himself off so that he was laying in the bed beside Poe, as opposed to on top of him.

“Thank you,” Ben said for the second time since they’d climbed into bed, with a tired smile and a sigh.

“Thank you,” from an equally tired pilot, falling fast in love— and fast asleep.

The two kissed lazily, one more time— maybe more; again, no one was counting— and then Poe reached out to put his arms around the man he’d rescued one last time before they were both happily unconscious.

Although unlikely, this new bond between lost boy and fearless hero was quickly becoming a strong one. It was strength that Ben would need to continue to defeat his many and violent inner demons, and strength that Poe would need too: To pick up not only Ben Solo himself, when he stumbled— but the broken young man’s spirit when it fell and broke as well.

Ben would keep trying, and he would get better— much better. He would regain the trust of his friends and family; even that of his father’s best friend, Chewbacca— no easy task, after the things he had done.

He would learn to meditate again; to restrain the previously unbridled passion and power that had once been so damaging. He would learn to direct those feelings; direct them to wonderful places— places he would only ever take his newfound love; places they would go together again and again.

Eventually, he would even stand alongside his own mother at the helm of a Rebel starship, poised to take her position as a much different kind of leader than the one he had previously envisioned himself being.

For tonight, though, he was already content— and Ben Solo had so scarcely ever been content. He was more than happy, in the afterglow of shared climaxes and passion and intimacy, to relish his feelings of love and affection for his brave Poe Dameron: The man who had rescued him so daringly from the First Order— and also from himself. He would reflect on these thoughts, embraced protectively, over the course of one of the most restful sleeps he could remember having in many years.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the person to whom it is gifted. Thank you! Poe is a delicious hero. <3


End file.
